


How lucky we are

by ottertrashpalace



Series: Goldgraves [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Recovery, graves figures some shit out, graves needs a hug, its cute i swear, mentions of violence and blood, queenie is the matchmaker extraordinare, tina is standoffish but romantic at heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:51:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8997190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottertrashpalace/pseuds/ottertrashpalace
Summary: Tina is on the team that gets the real Graves out of the place Grindelwald had been keeping him. She stays, after.
An exploration of Tina and Graves' relationship based on my Crewt universe





	1. That would be enough

Tina had been on the rescue team. After her involvement with the Grindelwald incident, Madame Piquery had reluctantly agreed to have her Auror status reinstated, and their first order of business was to find the real Percival Graves. They hadn’t been able to get any information out of Grindelwald, naturally, so they were more or less forced to scour the city from top to bottom, hoping that Grindelwald would have been keeping him nearby.

In the end, some testimony from a No-Maj shop owner in Queens led them into the abandoned building across the street.

Tina knew that this was it, and she could tell that the rest of her team sensed it too. There were traces of dark magic everywhere, not to mention scuffs and smears of blood on the floor leading to the basement. Tina could feel the cold fury in Lopez’s spellwork as he blasted the door from its hinges. Wands lit, they found themselves greeted with a maze of a place, corridors branching of every which way. 

“Alright, split up.” Lieutenant Ryland Weiss barked. “Jauncey and Kimura, take the middle. Goldstein and Roche, right, Lopez and Manygoats, left.”

They peeled off in their assigned directions. Each door they opened revealed a grimy, abandoned room, windowless and cell-like. Tina wondered with a shudder whether Grindelwald had planned on bringing other captives here.

As Roche was rummaging through a stack of scrolls in the previous room, Tina approached the last door at the end of the hallway.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” she muttered. The door didn’t budge. That was odd—the rest of them hadn’t been warded enough to resist the simple unlocking charm.

“Anna, give me a hand with this door, it won’t open,” she called over her shoulder. Roche abandoned her stack and squinted at the door.

“On the count of three. One, two, three— _Reducto!_ ”

Together, they blasted the hinges out of place and the door vaporized into a cloud of dust. 

“Merlin’s beard, what the hell would he need to ward like a— oh God.”

There was a hunched figure of a man, bloody and bruised, tied to a chair. He didn’t appear to be moving.

Tina crouched down to remove the restraints, and her suspicions were confirmed: it was indeed Director Graves. It hurt her desperately to see him like this, after having admired his strength and bravery for so many years. With the bindings removed, he collapsed heavily into her arms. She checked for a pulse and, while it was weak, it was there. _Thank God._ She could hear Roche taking out her wand and informing the team that they’d found him. Within minutes, the rest of the Aurors and a team of healers had arrived, and they whisked Graves away to St. Bart’s. He would live, they assured her.

That night, Tina went home and cried for the first time since she’d lost her job all those months ago. It almost felt good.

 

She went to visit Graves in the hospital the next day, after her shift was over. He was still out cold, the healer in charge told her, but he was doing well otherwise. He would likely make a full recovery, with the exception of his left leg, which was mangled physically and magically beyond belief. It wouldn’t be amputated, but he would be walking with a limp for the rest of his life.

Tina smiled sadly. She coils see him in her mind's eye, leading field missions, unwilling to acknowledge that he could no longer keep up with the team. Oh, Perce…

She sat by his bedside for a while, watching his shallow breathing. He had the closest thing to a beard he’d ever seen on him, and his face looked so sunken. The healers had reduced his bruising and cuts to pearly scars, which now littered his face and hands. 

Tina would be lying to herself if she tried to say that she didn’t have feelings for him. She had been decided long ago not to act on them, since he was her boss and all. They were still there, though, and seeing him like this absolutely tore her apart. It was desperately tempting to take his hand and sit at his bedside, but Tina was no fool. This didn’t change anything between them. The best she could do was look out for him and help him through his recovery, admiring from a distance like she always had. It would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is gonna be a little longer than expected. Hope it's still enjoyable, despite the Hetero (i'm joking, i'm joking). Personally I think Tina should have been a lot more interesting than they made her in the movie. ahem. Please leave kudos/comments as per usual. Thanks for the read!


	2. A part of the narrative

Graves woke to blinding white light. For a little while, he was convinced that he’d finally kicked the bucket in that hellhole of a place and moved on, but then his eyes adjusted and he saw the healers in red robes bustling around him, and a view of New York outside his window. He’d been rescued, then. He wondered vaguely what they’d done with the bastard.

He tolerated the indignities of medical treatment with practiced resignation; this wasn’t the first week he’d spent in a hospital bed. The healers worked around him in a whirl of crimson, and he found himself sleeping more often than not. His wounds seemed to have mostly healed, though his leg was still a little iffy. _Should have figured that much_ , he mused, _there's only so many times a human femur can be shattered and put back together_

Tina Goldstein came by every afternoon after he’d woken up, apparently Madame Picquery’s envoy to keep him updated on the goings-on in the department. It was thoughtful of her--of both of them, really-- though it frustrated him to no end that he had no real input. He’d have to get back to work as soon as he could— the listlessness was eating him alive.

“Are they going to release you soon?” Tina asked after her usual briefing one day, about a week in.

“They said Monday,” he replied. Only two more days until he could go back to work.

“Ah—Madame Picquery had a word that. I know you’re not going to like this, but she’s not going to let you come back to work until the healers say that you’re completely recovered.”

Percival rolled his eyes, concealing the wave of panic that he felt at her words. “I mean, once I’m out of the hospital, technically I’m—“

“No, Percival, listen. You really can’t just walk this off,” Tina interjected.

“I never said that, Goldstein. Does Seraphina really think it would be good for me to lie around all day? I’ve worked with her for years, she knows me better than that.” Percival demanded, somewhat disgruntled.

“Well, President’s orders, I’m afraid. Tough luck.”

“Like hell they are, she just wants me out of her hair. You go back and tell her she can stick—“

“Percy,” Tina cut in. _Percy_ _?_  “I’m serious. So’s Madame Picquery. You were in that basement for six damn months—“

“Don’t remind me.”

“—and if you want to be useful in the department, you need to recover. Don’t—“

He had tried to butt in, but the words withered on his tongue as she gave him a rather sharp look.

“Don’t try to tell me that you’ve recovered after lying in bed for two weeks. It’s not the external injuries we’re worried about.”

Percival looked away. He felt stupid thinking of his mental health like it was something that would get better with the psychological equivalent of a pepper-up potion and some hot soup, but he couldn't deny that he would be a liability to the department with shell shock floating around in his brain like the ash of an unwelcome fire.

She took his hand, and a strange current of warmth ran up his arm to his heart. The part of him that had kept him sane in the basement all those months told him to pull away, to keep to himself and not let his heart get tangled up. He couldn’t do it, though. For once in his life, he wasn’t strong enough to stay cold and objective. He took her hand and clasped it gently, staring at the blank white ceiling above him. They sat there for a while, in silence. Tears welled up behind his eyes, strangely, but he fought them back and allowed a tide of exhaustion to overtake him. The last thing he felt before he fell asleep was the soft press of lips to his forehead, and then nothing.

 

Tina hurried through the corridors of St. Bart’s breathlessly, brushing past more than one irritated nurse. Her hand autonomously reached up and brushed her lips, which still seemed to be tingling. She shouldn’t have done that. All she could hope was that he’d already been asleep, and wouldn’t remember that. _Careless_ _._

She arrived home and found Queenie in the kitchen, knocking something together for dinner.

“Evening, Teenie. How was work?”

“Fine,” Tina replied tersely. She was well aware that Queenie knew exactly what had happened, and would want to talk about it, but she was not above being an absolute ass to prevent that from happening. “And the boys?”

“In the case, I expect. Actually, if you could just pop down and get them out for dinner I’d be much obliged.” Queenie said.

“Sure,” Tina replied, getting up with a grimace. Her back was killing her-- it had been a rather long day of domestic calls in the city. Some idiot who thought a Scouring Serpent would do a good job of cleaning out his pipes.

She knocked politely on the top of the suitcase, and then opened it and climbed in. The shed was messy as usual, and she picked her way carefully through empty vials and piles of who knows what until she could peer out of the door and see that the boys were tending to the bowtruckles. They turned around to greet her, though, with the leafy insects hanging off of their sleeves at comical angels.

“It’s dinnertime,” Tina announced, “I think Queenie’s making ratatouille.”

“Brilliant,” said Newt, “We’ll be up in a moment, then. Erm, hang on, would you mind grabbing the bowl of weevils over there, by the bush?”

Tina smiled to herself as she fetched the weevils. Seeing the two of them together always managed to cheer her up, especially since Credence was starting to look healthier and happier.

After the bowtruckles were fed, Tina managed to coax the two of them out of the case and upstairs to eat. 

As they were stuffing themselves with vegetables, Tina couldn’t help but notice the way that Newt’s free hand nudged Credence’s, and how the latter smiled faintly as their fingers intertwined. She glanced up at Queenie, who caught her eye with a smirk. It wasn’t like Tina hadn't noticed the chemistry between their two boys--hell, she'd encouraged it-- but something vaguely like jealousy nudged at her. She wasn't romantically inclined towards either of them; it wasn't that she was envious of one or the other, but she wanted to know what it would be like to be with someone so comfortably, so naturally. It seemed like something out of a fairy tale to her.

In her Ilvermorny days, she had never been one to date; she preferred to explore the woods or talk to Professor Canatonquin about his Auror days, if she wasn’t studying. There had been Thisbe, all those years ago, but that had never really left their bedroom. She was a stranger to the gentle, constant intimacy that Newt and Credence so effortlessly seemed to share.

After dinner, when they had finished charming the dishes to wash themselves, Queenie cornered her for a moment in the kitchen. 

“For God’s sake, Teenie,” she hissed, “just talk to him.”

Tina had long since grown used to her sister’s nosiness. “He’s my boss, Queenie. It’s not that simple,” she said flatly.

“Oh, not that simple, my _ass_ ,” Queenie cried. 

Tina was taken aback; her sister rarely swore. “Well, what would you have me do, then?” She countered angrily.

Queenie seemed exasperated. “I don’t—go visit him. Bring him muffins. Ask him about his mother. Make him laugh.” Her expression softened. “Look, I know you’ve never done this before, dearest, but it’s really not as hard as you think it is.”

Tina just rolled her eyes and went to sit on the couch, picking up her battered copy of _Irene Kneedander: A Life of Adventure_ and pretending to read. Queenie was tactful enough to let her stew. As always, though, she realized eventually that her sister was right. For better or for worse, it was time she acted on her feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Queenie ex machina)


	3. Peace of mind

On Monday, as promised, the healers let Percival go. He received his wand—fresh from Evidence, he learned, who had scoured it for any traces of Grindelwald or dark magic. They apparently had found nothing, but Percival had a little too much experience with the morons who worked in Evidence, and used the wand only with utmost caution.

Naturally, his apartment was also a crime scene, since Grindelwald had apparently decided to make use of it. Percival was being put up in a hotel room until they cleared it out. He apparated to the location, took one look at the drab walls and drawn curtains, and walked straight back out. There was a gritty no-maj speakeasy on the corner, and he purchased a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes. Satisfied, he returned to the apartment, pulled an armchair up to the window, uncorked the bottle, and took a long drink. 

He didn’t recall ever falling asleep, but he must have, because he woke up at what must have been four in the morning or so with an unbearable crick in his neck. His eyes darting about wildly in the darkness, he took a few minutes to remind himself that he could move his limbs, and got up uneasily. He found the room's pantry empty except for a questionably edible bag of cornmeal and a few moldy apples, and closed it with disgust. Back to the armchair then. _Count on_ _Seraphina to be a stingy little shit._ He lit one of the cigarettes with trembling fingers, and stared at the lamplight in the buildings below him as he smoked. A few people passed on the street below, and Percival though vaguely of that boy he’d met handing out pamphlets in front of the bank. Credence, Tina said his name was. The Obscurial. The Obscurial that Grindelwald had—

_Damn it, damn it._ He swallowed a cauterizing gulp of whiskey and clutched his head almost painfully between two fists.

He stayed like that for more time than he cared to admit, only getting up when he needed to piss or remember that he wasn’t tied to that fucking chair.

It must have been two—three?—days later that he heard a knocking at his door midmorning. It startled him beyond belief, and he wordlessly summoned his wand, nearly missing the catch because he was trembling so badly. He took a deep breath and turned the knob.

It was Tina Goldstein, with a paper bag clutched nervously in one hand and the other still outstretched, though she withdrew it quickly.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He croaked.

Her face was drawn, but determined. “I brought muffins.” She announced, as though that answered his question.

Wordlessly, he shuffled back, letting her in. He realized that it must smell of piss and alcohol and unwashedness, but she didn’t seem phased. To be fair, she had taken her fair share overnight jobs with some male coworkers, so this was probably not the worst she’d ever experienced.

Still, it embarrassed Percival that she, of all people, was seeing him in this state. There was something there that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, prodding him to look presentable for her. He suddenly noticed the dismal state of the room, and was almost tempted to subtly kick the whiskey bottle under the couch.

“Well, coffee?” She said, shaking him out of his thoughts. 

“I—sure. Thanks.” He found himself sinking back into the armchair, slightly stunned that this was happening. She summoned a plate, shook the muffins out onto it, and managed to work the coffee machine in the pitiful half-kitchen. The smell was heavenly, and Percival realized exactly how hungry he was.

Tina poured two cups of coffee and sat down on the couch opposite Percival. He took a muffin and bit into it—it was absolutely sublime.

“Who made these?” He asked her, after devouring it with unflattering speed.

“No-maj baker named Kowalski. Merlin knows I can’t bake.”

Percival cracked a smile at that. Memories of a particular staff luncheon came to mind. She really couldn't.

“How long are you stuck in this shitty little place?” She asked.

Percival raised an eyebrow. “You tell me, it's your investigation.”

“Point,” Tina sighed, putting her cup down. “It’s not going great. Dark magic everywhere. Sink clogged beyond repair. All these little dismembered fingers—“

Percival almost spat his coffee out. “Dism—“

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Tina added hastily. 

Percival had to laugh. It was an odd experience, like he hadn’t used those muscles in months. Bless Tina, for not treating him like he was made of glass.

“I needed that,” he admitted. “Whiskey?” 

Tina waved away the outstretched bottle, and Graves set it back on the table. It was mostly empty.

“Percy…” she hesitated, glancing between Percival and the bottle.

“I… really, Tina, what are you doing here?” He asked, his voice uncharacteristically small.

Tina was silent for a moment. “I wanted to see you, Percy.” she said simply, and just like that, they were standing and Percival was kissing her—her hands were so soft and cool against his feverish skin—

She broke it off. “Are you sure?” She asked with surprising intensity, catching his gaze. There was painful uncertainty in her eyes.

“Yes,” he gasped, his throat suddenly dry.

And she kissed him again, pale hands cupping his cheeks. He let one arm come around her waist, pulling her closer yet. She let out a faint rush of breath, and there was nothing else in his world in that moment but her.

They stumbled towards the bedroom, the bed that he hadn’t even used yet, and she collapsed on top of him, kicking off her shoes and working furiously at the buttons on his shirt. Once his chest was bare, she ran her fingers lightly through the smattering of graying hairs there, and let her mouth trail down his neck, his collarbone…

She pushed his wrists into the mattress, and he could feel his arousal mounting unbearably, his cock throbbing, when it all started to go out of focus.

_damn it, DAMN IT, NOT NOW—_

But he was losing himself. It was dark again, and smelled like mold and dust. A dark, breathy voice whispered _it’s been a while, my boy, hasn’t it?_

“Percival!” came a distant cry. Eventually, he found the source of it, and there was light streaming in through a window. Oh.

“Percy…” 

It was Tina, and she was cradling his cheek desperately. There was a deafening silence. 

“I’m sorry…” he muttered, and forced himself to sit up, arrange himself like nothing had happened.

“No, don’t be,” she insisted with that steely note in her voice that always gave him pause. “We don’t have to, not now.”

He slumped back against the bedframe. “Really, I’m alright, it just—“

“--happens sometimes?” She finished with a raised eyebrow. “Percival, that's not something you just have to deal with like it’s just a—a cramp in your wand arm or something. You need to talk to someone, let yourself get help. It can get better, with time.”

“Like you’d know,” Percival grunted, and immediately regretted it. Tina seemed to shrink.

“I don’t, really,” she admitted. “I… my roommate at Ilvermorny was a girl named Thisbe Arnalds, we lived together for all seven years. She went off to fight in the Great War, right when we were fresh out of school, she was only seventeen—“ Tina’s voice broke, but she swallowed and continued. “She survived, miraculously, but the front… she was never the same. She had the worst nightmares. She would wake me up, sometimes, and—I would get all of these bruises. It wasn’t her fault, she would get these flashbacks, you see, but it ruined her, and she couldn't stand it. In the end— she—“

She trailed off, and Percival didn’t need her to finish. He stared at the whiskey bottle by the couch with newfound contempt.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, and this time, she didn’t respond. He carefully reached out, and took her hand. She just shook her head and rubbed her thumb across his knuckles, staring at them sadly.

“I know you’re not her,” she said, “I shouldn’t…”

“No, I understand,” he told her. “It’s all right.”

She sat next to him, running her hand through his hair methodically. In the end, they both drifted off to sleep, hands still clasped together.


	4. Be alive right now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina takes Percival home. Pretty damn fluffy.

Tina stood in the doorway of Percival’s apartment with her hands on her hips. She was almost positive that they’d managed to clean the place out, having removed all of Grindelwald’s wards and personal effects, though it was hard to be sure. No one in the Auror office had ever seen the inside of the place under its original occupant. 

Of course, Percival himself was available for consultation, but they didn’t want to drag him into the place while it still reeked of dark magic, for his sake. 

Now, though, it was time. It fell on Tina as the head of the investigation to collect the Director and bring him home, a job she was simultaneously looking forward to and dreading. 

It would be wonderful, of course, to get him out of that dingy old hotel room, and he would certainly have an easier time recovering in familiar surroundings. Still, though, there were certainly some small inconsistencies her team had missed, and she was well aware of exactly how easy it was for something seemingly inconsequential to bring back memories of trauma.

They’d talked about this last time she’d visited him.

“I don’t want to push you,” she’d said. And he’d given her a _look._

“Damn it, Tina, I just want to go home,” He’d muttered, the fire leaving his gaze. Her resolve had more or less melted at that point. She probably wouldn't have been able to deny him this if she'd wanted to.

She turned and closed the apartment door behind her, heading downstairs to tell Lopez and Roche that they were clear to proceed. With her coworkers gone, she disapparated to the hotel and tapped on Percival’s door—three knocks, evenly spaced, like always. He answered the door promptly, and they shared a smile and a kiss.

“Afternoon,” He murmured when they broke apart, “Is today the day?”

“It is,” she replied. She saw that he had a small bag packed beside him, and the hotel room was impeccable in the background. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he told her. And she felt a rush of pride that he trusted her enough to be honest. To show weakness.

She offered her arm. “Well then?”

He took her elbow gently with one hand, and they disappeared into constricting darkness. They emerged outside of the apartment building, and after a brief pause, Percival went up to the door and let the door recognize his wand. It seemed almost more reluctant than it usually was, but maybe Tina was just imagining things. They made it up to his floor without incident. 

She passed him the key, which had been burning something of a hole in her coat pocket for the past few weeks. 

He took it, and after fumbling with the lock for a few moments, managed to open it and let them in. He glanced around, and walked in slowly, his gaze passing over each object in turn. Haltingly, he reached out to adjust the tilt of one of the photographs on his small living room table, and then let his hand drop to his side.

“Coffee?” he said eventually, looking back towards Tina where she loitered by the door.

“Thanks,” she said, stepping hesitantly into the parlor. Of course, after supervising its cleaning, she knew the apartment forwards and backwards, but it seemed like a strange land with him here. Like something sacred she wouldn't dare disturb.

“You did a good job,” he called from the kitchen. “I don’t see a single dismembered finger.”

Tina blinked, and then remembered the first morning with the muffins. She chuckled. "I wouldn't count on it," she called, which won her a snort.

He emerged shortly with two steaming cups of coffee. She tried hers, and found that it had milk and two sugars, just the way she liked it. He perched on the couch next to her, and they sat in compatible silence for a few moments.Tina gave him time to get used to his space again.

“Shall I give you the tour?” He asked eventually.

“Well, if you want,” she replied, smirking. “I _did_ spend the last few weeks—“

He just rolled his eyes, cutting her off with a wave of his hand. “Humor me.”

So she did. 

Percival led her through the hallway, poking his head into the bathroom and the broom closet. 

“My library is a legacy, you know,” he told her as they entered the narrow corridor with books piled floor to ceiling. “My ancestors in the colonies started collecting rare books during the burning times, and we’ve been doing it ever since.”

“Horned Serpent, was he?”

“As a matter of fact, he was,” Percival replied rather cooly, giving her a sidelong glance. 

She blinked innocently. “I wouldn’t have thought a Wampus man would be quite so proud of that.”

He laughed. “The only thing we hold over Horned Serpent is that we always win the Intramural Quodpot Championships.”

Tina snorted. “Right, of course.”

“Was that sarcasm, Goldstein?” Percival said in a low voice as he turned to face her.

“Not at all, Director,” she said with an innocent smile. He just stepped forward with what was almost a growl, and kissed her. In an instant, they melted into each other. She couldn’t really believe how good it felt to have his hands cradling the small of her back, listing dangerously towards her ass. He tasted of coffee and _Percival_ , and his hair was surprisingly soft to her touch, and everything smelled of his woodsy musk.

They stumbled backwards, down the hall and into his bedroom. It had been sadly sterile after the deep clean she and the Aurors had overseen, but she sensed that they wouldn’t lose any time in making it more… lived in.

 

As they lay in the afterglow, she ran her fingers through Percival’s hair as he lay on his back beneath her. It felt so glorious to be naked like this, one of his rough hands wrapped around her waist. 

“Would you stay the night?” He murmured in her ear, his voice low and rumbling. 

She shivered. “Of course,” she replied, her voice equally wrecked from… well… events. 

She leaned away briefly to grab her wand, and conjured her patronus, a silvery Husky, to send word to Queenie. She turned back to Percival as he watched the Husky bound away through the window with great fondness. It was irresistible, this sentimental side of him, and she leaned down to kiss him, slower this time. Her fingers traced over the five o’clock shadow on his jaw, relishing the sandpaper tug. Yes, she was certainly staying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well GUESS WHO'S TOo sex-repulsed to write smut even when it obviously fits into the plot  
> sorry. if you thought there was a hole there i sincerely apologize...


	5. A fragment of your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graves in his natural environment: the office

It was almost strange to be back in his office. Most of it was still in order, but the state of his filing cabinet was absolutely abysmal and he swore that every single one of his self-inking quills had vanished, even the box that he’d hidden in the back of the bottom right drawer so that his secretary wouldn’t pilfer them. That son of a bitch…

Naturally, he had an absolute mountain of paperwork awaiting him. Harkaway had explained it in his usual nervous manner—they’d compiled all of the cases that Grindelwald had passed judgement on, and Graves needed to go through all of them to make sure that nothing had fallen through the cracks, so to speak. The most obvious example was the debacle with Tina and Newt’s arrest, which resulted in their current status as fugitives from the law (technically, that is. Picquery had suspended it). Reviewing that report in particular was not something he was looking forward to, and he doubted that the rest of the task would be any more enjoyable.

Around three, Picquery swept into his office with an uncharacteristically guilty look on her face.

“How are you doing?” She asked once she’d made them both tea and pulled the armchair up to his desk. The position was not unfamiliar, and Percival found that he relaxed slightly despite himself.

“As well as you’d expect,” he answered carefully. The shame in her eyes was making him antsy, and he really wanted to get all of the necessities out of the way.

“That’s good,” she pursed her lips and set the tea down on its saucer with a muted _clink_. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you. It’s been pretty busy…”

“I can imagine,” he managed. _Just move on, for the love of God, I can’t stand this much longer._

“Well, I suppose Tina’s been doing a fine job of taking care of you,” she said, and just like that, the sparkle was back in her eye.

“You meddling piece of shit,” Graves muttered. “Don’t tell me you’ve been conferring with Queenie Goldstein.” 

Picquery just gave an elegant shrug. “I’m sure we’ve bumped into each other once or twice. She's a nice girl, Queenie.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” he grumbled. “I can’t believe—I’m an adult, Seraphina, I can chase my own romance, thank you very much.”

“Of course you can, dear,” Picquery said with a self-satisfied smile, sipping her tea. 

“Out of my office, Phina, I have a lot of work to get done.” He opened the door with an irritated wave of his hand, and Picquery gracefully collected herself and floated out smugly, followed by her teacup. Percival was positively _steaming._

“Oh! I almost forgot to mention,” she tossed over her shoulder from the doorway, “We’re having a formal ball to welcome some Turkish emissaries. I’d recommend bringing a date, but… I suppose the Queen Dowager of Albania is always free for a dance, if you don’t,” and she was gone before Percival could retort. Mentioning the Dowager Queen was a low blow—he’d had at least three glasses of Ogden’s Finest by that point, and it was _years_ ago, when they were both barely out of school. The nerve of that woman…

Right when he’d finally settled back into the paperwork, a familiar figure appeared in the hallway. Tina. 

He set his quill down and beckoned her in, and she shut the door behind her. 

“What was that about?” She asked.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, glancing back down at the form he’d been completing. She raised an eyebrow. Damn it. “…there’s a formal reception for the Turkish diplomats next week, and she doesn’t want me going stag. Uh, also, President Picquery _may_ have conspired with your sister to set us up.”

Tina blinked. “Oh,” and a slow smile crept up on her face. “Was that an invitation, Percival?”

He felt his face redden slightly. “Maybe.”

“I always knew you were a romantic at heart,” she teased. “Lucky for you, I think I’m free on Friday.”

“Thank Merlin.”

“Oh, I know. You would have ended up with that nasty old Queen Mother again, and we can’t have that—“

“How does _everyone_ know about that?” He groused, running an exasperated hand through his hair.

“Believe me, it's legendary,” she said, failing to hide a smirk.

“I guess it doesn’t bother you that the President herself was conspiring with your sister to set us up, then.”

Tina shrugged. “Perce, let’s be honest, the two of us are both insufferably stubborn. We probably owe them for this.”

He found this difficult to argue with. “Probably.”

They let the silence settle for a moment. 

“Well, you’ve got a shitload of paper there, boss. I’ll let you work.” Tina leaned across the desk and left a peck on his lips before striding out, and Percival couldn’t stop himself from watching the lines that her calves pressed through her pants, or the swoop of her hips that her belt pulled in. The soft fall of her hair, in gentle brown waves that she never fussed with. He was losing interest in his paperwork at an exponential rate. 

He sat for a moment before inspiration struck. He summoned one of the little memo mice from his desk drawer, and scribbled a note on it, smirking as he did. It scurried off towards Tina’s desk, and Percival returned to his work with a smirk, filling in the forms with more thought to the little mouse in Tina’s hands than the words he was scratching out. 

This was quite the improvement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was short but there's more coming very soon


	6. Look at where we are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ball pt 1

The ball approached quickly and without fanfare. Soon enough, it was Friday afternoon, and Tina returned home from work to the crippling realization that she didn’t have a dress.

It had never really been her style to worry about such things. When she’d been nineteen or twenty and it suddenly became acceptable to wear Muggle pants instead of dresses or robes, she’d jumped on the opportunity and now her wardrobe consisted of sensible slacks, blouses, and a good wool coat—everything an Auror needed. Or so she’d thought.

Queenie, naturally, noticed her distress almost immediately. She fussed like a mother hen at dinner, shaking her head and clucking her tongue disappointedly. 

“You shoulda _asked,_ Teenie,” she admonished, after the situation had been explained to Newt and Credence. The former was looking on with the sort of nervous disinterest one would notice in a startled bird, but Credence seemed intrigued.

“I mean,” Tina attempted halfheartedly. “I have that pink one—“

Queenie looked offended at the very thought. “Not even close! That’s a club dress, darling. No, you need an evening gown—something shining, yet understated—“

“A dark red lip,” Credence put in shyly.

"Excellent! Good eye, dear."

“I’m not going to put anything on me with a single sequin, understand that,” Tina insisted.

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said with a wave of an elegant hand. "I think… Ah! I know exactly what we need,” Queenie exclaimed, springing up from the table. “Come with me.”

“Queenie, we’ve discussed this. I can’t wear your clothes, I’m just too tall,” Tina said crossly as she followed her sister down the hallway, trailed by Credence. Queenie just shook her head. 

“That wasn’t the plan,” Queenie called as she disappeared around the corner.

When Credence and Tina caught up with her, they saw her rolling out bolts of fabric, cutting and sewing to a pattern traced out by a spell.

“Oh… Queenie… you don’t have to…”

“Aw, forget it. You’re going to look gorgeous, doll.”

In no time at all, the dress was ready, and it looked so beautiful that Tina was afraid to touch it. True to her word, Queenie hadn’t used a lot of jewels or sequins, but the satin she’d chosen had a real shimmer to it. It was a midnight blue that Tina would have assumed was black if it weren’t for the floor tiles that offered a comparison, studded with only a few beads along the collar. As it floated to its full height, Tina could see that it had a foot of train puddling behind it elegantly. There was no way in hell she would be able to pull this off.

“Well? Put it on!” Queenie cried.

“Alright, alright, give me a moment,” Tina muttered. She took it into the closet (for Credence’s sake), and got it over her head with only a little bit of contortion. It fit, of course.

“Wear these,” came Queenie’s hiss, as she waggled a pair of silvery heels around the door. “No grandma boots today, love.”

Tina sighed and unlaced her _comfortable, sturdy_ work boots let the charmed shoes fit onto her feet. She tugged the dress into place, and emerged to face the two eager spectators.

“Oh, Teenie, you should see yourself,” Queenie sighed. “You’re dreamy.”

Credence nodded eagerly. “You look beautiful.”

And it was the look of eager awe on his face that made Tina turn to face Queenie’s mirror. 

She gasped. 

The bodice draped just right across her chest, gathered at the waist, and trailed downwards to twist softly about her ankles. She looked almost like a different person, but it didn’t matter too much to her right then. Tonight was a good time to try something different for a little while.

She let herself be guided to the vanity, and Credence bustled about painting her face while Queenie sorted her hair into something acceptable with a simple silver pin sweeping one side up. By seven, she was miraculously ready to go. 

Out of habit, she reached for her coat on its hook by the door, but Queenie’s hand stopped her.

“Last thing,” Queenie promised, catching Tina’s eye.

She disappeared briefly into her room, and returned with a fine white fur wrap. Tina took it reverently, aware that this was certainly the most expensive piece of clothing her sister owned.

“Have fun,” Credence said, as Queenie gave her a hug worthy of a boa constrictor.

“Well, not _too_ much fun,” Queenie amended, smirking. 

Tina just rolled her eyes and apparated.

 

The ball was as intimidating as always. It was held at the McGilliguddy Hall, which boasted golden doors twenty feet tall and a plush red carpet coating its marble stairs. Tina did her best to climb them without wobbling in those infernal heels. _It’ll be worth it to see the looks on everyone’s faces_ , she told herself, determined. 

The goblin at the door let her in with a respectful nod, and a small wizard in a sharp tuxedo politely asked for her name and title, which she gave. He cleared his throat, put his wand to it, and announced in a suddenly booming voice, “ _Auror Porpentina Goldstein.”_

Oh.

Innumerable pairs of eyes followed her as she descended into the ballroom, much slower than she would have liked. She, however, sought only one.

Percival was standing near the entrance. He was wearing a rich set of black dress robes, his face clean-shaven and hair slicked back within an inch of his life. Something about the way his shoulders filled them out made her want to push him against a wall and— well. No time for that now.

He was staring at her with hooded eyes. 

“You look, ah—amazing,” he stammered, his speech staunchly at odds with the orderliness of his appearance.

“I could say the same of you,” she murmured with a smile. Eat your heart out, Dowager Queen.

He offered his arm cordially, and she took it with a graceful hand, playing along. She could feel the eyes on here. 

“May I have this dance, madame?” Percival practically purred once they had reached the dance floor. 

“You may,” She breathed with a small curtsy. “Only thing is…” she leaned in, glanced around, and whispered “ _I can’t dance_.”

Percival chortled, mirth dancing in his eyes. 

“It’ll be fine, come on.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“For me, Tina,” he wheedled, and not for the first time, she was smitten. “Alright,” she muttered, “but don’t make me do this again.”

They swept out onto the dance floor to the beat of a rousing big-band tune, and Tina was perfectly happy to let Percival lead. Queenie and tried to teach her to dance many a time, and had had little success. Tina focused mainly on not trodding on Percival’s toes. He was unbearably graceful, gliding across the polished floor like he was skating on ice. Tina was considerably less so, but his guiding hand on the small of her back reminded her of the woman she’d seen looking in Queenie’s mirror. If she could pull off this slinky satin dress, she sure as hell could dance a waltz.

She found herself almost disappointed when the song ended. Relief won out in the end, though. Her calves were burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah yeah i know there's a second half coming real soon. The chapter just got hella long so i broke it into two parts.


	7. Enough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "real soon" she says as she forgets to post for two entire weeks  
> so. sorry. here it is. enjoy.

The night dragged on for a little while, and she swallowed down three glasses of champagne while Percival did his diplomatic rounds, talking to various ambassadors and dignitaries. At one point, he even greeted a man who looked and talked a whole lot like Newt—it turned out to be his brother, Theseus. The man was terrifyingly boisterous, the exact opposite of the Scamander that Tina knew. Just making small talk proved exhausting, and Tina was glad that he didn’t seem to realize that Percival and Tina knew Newt.

Eventually, though, people started to wander out. The rest of the Aurors were headed to the Twin Anchors for drinks (apparently there was a bet between Lopez and Roche at stake over who could down the most shots of vodka; Tina didn’t expect that would end well), but Tina was trying to find an oddly elusive Percival.

She discovered that he was cornered by the wall, trapped in conversation with a portly man who was leaning in a little too close.

“You see, Mr. Graves, I ‘ave seen too many of your kind on ze Continent,” he was saying. French? Tina couldn’t remember the name of the French ambassador to save her life. Belgian, maybe?

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Percival said coldly.

“Ah, I zink you do,” the ambassador countered. “No self-respecting Auror would allow ‘imself to be captured by a Dark Wizard.”

“Monsieur, I don’t think you understand,” Percival insisted, right as Tina was on the brink of interrupting. His back was to her, so he couldn’t see her, and she wasn’t sure if it would be better to interrupt the conversation, or let Percival keep his pride and fight for himself.

“I understand _perfectly,_ monsieur Directeur,” he hissed. “You cannot ‘ide from us forever.”

With that, he turned and strode off, flouncing towards the cluster of diplomats at the back of the room.

“Percy,” Tina tried quietly. 

He jumped. “Tina…” he sighed. 

“Let’s go home,” she offered. 

“Home, huh?” he cracked a shaky smile, which Tina readily returned. 

“Yes,” she answered simply, and offered her arm. He took it.

“I mean, if you want to go for drinks, I believe the others are off watching Lopez and Roche getting absolutely plastered.”

At that, Percival actually laughed a little. Tina could still feel his arm trembling a little, and she took that as her cue to move them towards the door.

Once they were safely back in the apartment, she gladly shed the shoes and fur and led Percival onto the couch. To her surprise, though, he took over, and pushed her down into it, lavishing sloppy kisses across her exposed breastbone and neck. She gasped into a wide, aggressive kiss.

“Do you have any idea—“ Percival said, pausing for breath, “how hard it was— not to touch you—all night?”

Tina just giggled, getting a good grip in his hair and pulling him even closer. Not a minute later, though, a tremor ran through him, and he pulled away, eyes squeezed shut.

“Percy?” she whispered. He didn’t seem to hear her. 

She shifted on the couch so that he could sit, and he almost collapsed, head in his hands. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean—“

“I know you didn’t,” she said quickly. She had suspected after seeing him with the probably-French ambassador that tonight wasn’t going to be a frisky one.

“Perce, why don’t we go take a bath?” She suggested, struck with sudden inspiration.

“A bath?” he repeated incredulously. 

“Come on, everyone loves a bath,” she insisted.

“…alright.” And the fact that he gave in so easily told her exactly how much the man had gotten to him.

They made their way to his bathroom, and filled the tub together. Almost ritualistically, he eased her zipper down, and she unbuttoned his waistcoat. They shared a kiss or two, but the sexual atmosphere was gone. Tina took special care removing his shirt and folding it neatly on the sink counter. She took off her slip and moved towards the tub as Percival pulled off his pants. He didn’t follow, though.

He was standing uncertainly on the rug, and she cocked her head, stretching a hand out. “Percy?”

He seemed to shake of his reverie, and took her hand. “I just… why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

He gestured to the bath, the clothes folded on the counter. Tina’s heart hurt.

“I heard what that French guy said to you,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, climbing into the bath. 

“That doesn’t explain anything,” he replied evasively, crossing his arms.

“Percy,” she sighed, tugging him into the water. “He said some awful things. That’s bound to have an effect, it's okay.”

Percival gave in and sank into the bath facing her. His legs were so long that he had to bend his knees out to fit.

“I hate that man,” he muttered, “slimy bastard, that one. He nearly got Picquery impeached a few years back—“

“That was him?” Tina hissed. She remembered the incident well, and her outrage even better.

Percival just shrugged and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now.”

There was a brief pause as they regarded each other.

“Come here,” Tina eventually said. Percival reluctantly moved towards her, slowly as not to make the water slosh out. She wrapped her arms around his back, and pulled his head to rest on her shoulder. He relaxed into her with a shudder, and she was only a little surprised when she felt warm tears trailing down the skin there. She just held him tighter, and he wept tears that must have been welling up inside him for far too long.

“I’m so sorry, Tina, I—“ he rubbed his eyes angrily, “I can’t even do this—do any of this right.” 

“Percy!” Tina said, her voice echoing against the tile. “You’re perfect. You’re fine.”

“This isn’t fine! I’m just—“

She cut him off with a kiss, long and sweet. 

“There’s nothing wrong here.” She insisted. And then, lower, “I love you, Percival Graves—there’s nothing you could do to change that, and I daresay I think you’re gonna be stuck with me for a good long time, now.”

He stared at her with disarming tenderness. “I'm a damn lucky man, then.”

And it was only later, lying in their bed, that Tina realized exactly how much she’d meant it when she’d called this place home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (yes, all the chapter names were from the Hamilton song. I have no shame)


	8. PSA from the author

This is just an announcement to subscribers that I'm extending the AU via series. Just wanted to make sure you knew if you're interested! That's all, have a nice day.


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